Winged Hero
by An Eleanor Jane
Summary: Pretty much a group of head cannons I have about Falcon joining the avengers and bonding with and making a difference to each of them. Please request a character and I'll try my hardest to write something about Sam and them. "They had exchanged only a couple of words since they'd met, but from what Stark could tell Sam was like Steve. Good, kind, caring, loyal."
1. Iron Man

**I may have a little obsession with the character of Falcon, and decided to write this fic. Pretty much, this is where Sam bonds with each character. It's better than it sounds, I promise. The first one is Iron Man, where Tony had a panic attack (Like he gets in Iron Man 3) and Sam is the only one around to help him. This fix is mainly fluff with a little bit of angst thrown in, and lots and lots of bonding.**

 **Disclaimer: Trust me, if I owned these characters Falcon would have his own film.**

The suit was too small, too small and the room was too big and everything was blurring and shifting and oh god not another panic attack not now when he was alone in the tower not now oh god not now.

The suit released him and he fell out of it, the room a blur of shifting colours. The light were too bright and it was too warm and he needed out, he just needed to get out of the damn tower before he went unconscious and not now not now not now.

Stark lay slumped against the wall, his head pounding as images were thrown across his vision. Blood soaked Captain America cards, a vortex, a sceptre, eyes taken over the blue that meant they were no longer in control, flashing lights, the buildings whizzing past as he fell past them. Captain lying broken on the sidewalk, Natasha with her chest full of bullet holes, a once terrifying and now terrifyingly still creature that was once Bruce Banner, Clint with a knife stuck out of his back, Thor's hammer lying abandoned on the blood soaked ground, Wanda and Pietro's bodies entwined and still on the ground. Pepper's eyes glazed over and empty of the life that always radiated from her. Blood, so much blood, so much blood.

Then there were hands grabbing his shoulders and a shadow over him, but still those pictures invaded his brain until he couldn't take it anymore. Someone was saying his name, a voice he dimly recognised but couldn't place. The hands on his shoulders were anchoring him there. He let himself focus on the steady weight, trying to steady his gasping breaths. His heart was beating and his head was pounding and he couldn't breathe, but the hands were still there on his shoulders so he was okay. "Stark. Stark, woah man, look at me man."

The images were still flashing across his mind. He cried out when he saw Pepper plummet past him, felt the way his gut wrenched as the love of his life fell. He didn't catch her. He should have caught her. She nearly died because he didn't catch her. It was too hot, too hot, too small, too small.

"Focus on my voice. Just focus on my voice, okay?"

Colours were still screaming across his vision, but he focused on the voice. It wasn't Steve, because the Captain had never called him 'man'. The hold was too strong for Banner, and the voice was American, so not Thor. Not Fury, and not Natasha, obviously. It could be Clint. Clint was good when he had attacks. No, Barton was out on a rooftop somewhere tracking a target, so who was the person kneeling in front of him? They were all gone. All his team were gone.

The colours pounded through his head, making his stomach flip and his limbs go numb. The face in front of him kept sliding in an out of focus. He dimly saw dark skin and white eyes, but the tears were still blurring his eyes too much to take in any features. It could be Rhodey. His brilliant mind was spinning out of his control and it scared him. No, it wasn't Rhodey. His friend was out somewhere sitting through a long senator meeting, too far away to be here right now.

He focused on the hands, letting them anchor him down and keep him from falling. They were heavy and sure on his shoulders. He opened his eyes and tried to keep them open long enough to take in the man in front of him.

The man in front of his was a silhouette. What looked like wings of metal stretched out from beside him, crumpled as if he was just about to fold them when he found Stark. It was Sam Wilson. Falcon, the one who helped out the Captain in his search for Bucky. They had exchanged only a couple of words since they'd met, but from what he could tell Sam was like Steve. Good, kind, caring, loyal. Tony had wanted to have a look at his wings.

Blood. So much blood. He was pulled into the nightmare once again, and suddenly the Falcon had joined the pile of corpses etched onto the back of his eyelids.

"Stay with me Stark. Just keep calm. Whatever you can see, you're not there. You're here, in the Stark tower. Everyone's okay."

"The team…"

"The team are all okay. I got a call from Cap just five minutes ago to ask if I could cook something because he reckons that all the avengers will be back by this evening. They're all okay." The words made his heart slow down a bit, but it was still beating erratically and his breath was still refusing to allow enough oxygen into his lungs.

The hands left his shoulders, and for a split second terror clawed at his insides. Falcon was leaving him alone. He was going to be alone. He was going to be alone. Like in that vortex. Where everywhere he looked there was just empty space, no sign of human life.

A minute later something cool was placed into his hands; something awkward and so heavy he nearly dropped it. It was massive, made out of a metal that Stark didn't recognise. They gleamed in the light coming from the windows, as if they had just been shined, but they were peppered in little scratches. Sam must have given him the wings off his uniform. They were really heavy, and the lather straps would probably cut into his shoulders after prolonged flying. The parts that controlled them were quite vulnerable, considering that if they were hit the man trying to fly with them would plummet to the ground. They were incredible feats of engineering, but they could be improved.

"You said a while ago you could make them better. I'm going to hold you to that." Sam's tone was urgent, and Stark nodded. He headed towards his lab, Sam following behind. First he had to take a scan of the wings, identify all the individual components. Then he would try and make it more light weight, piece by piece, without losing any of the power they carried. It would be difficult, but come on, he was Iron Man!

After three hours of working, two cups of coffee and his third wing prototype, Stark smiled to himself. Wilson had stopped the panic attack without it even properly starting, the only way he knew how. He picked up a spare mobile hone and slid it into his pocket. If he had that to work on he might just be able to pull himself back before an attack even started. That just might work.


	2. Hawkeye

**Thank you to CrazedFangirl13 and** **Black' Victor Cachat for your lovely reviews. I hope you enjoy your Clint oneshot, and Black Widow and Hulk are coming soon, but I don't think I'm going to add to Brutasha because I ship Clintasha so much the craving to write their fluff is out of my control.**

 **Okay, just a little warning before we get started, this chapter is very long for me. I had to do a piece of descriptive writing for school, which is why there is so much detail in this. I love the idea of Falcon and Hawkeye becoming friends, but lots of people have already done the bonding over birds idea I had originally, so I decided to do something that hasn't been done before. Please favourite, follow or review if you like the story, and constructive criticism is accepted.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.**

Hawkeye regulated his breathing, trying to force his unwilling lungs to cooperate. His head pounded from all the blood rushing to it, his lip curled in a determined grimace. His arms burned, the tension making them tremble. _He could do this. He could do this. He had to do this._ He had to think about Natasha, that always chased the pain away. He thought about the way she laughed, a giggle that erupted from her like a volcano. He thought of the feeling of bliss when he woke up with her in his arms. He thought of the way her touch was gentle, the quiet conversations they held over the pillow, the inside jokes that no one else understood. He needed to do this for her, to make sure he had her back in a fight. He needed to do this, or it might cost him the one thing that made life worth living.

Sam Wilson wandered in with a towel. He didn't really feel like training only to find that pretty much everyone else made him look like an eight year old girl whenever he tried to work out. Worse still, he'd probably be asked if he wanted to spar with Romanoff, and that was an answer that he definitely knew the answer to. Duelling with the Russian never ended well for him, and he had the bruises to prove it. However, the training room looked empty enough, and it was one sure fire way to get rid of Stark. The man had been following him around all day asking about his newfound ability to talk to birds. If Sam heard one more "So what would happen if you flew past a bird that was mating? Does it make happy sounds or what?" or something similar he was going to throw something.

He paused just before he reached the treadmill. He looked around at the source of the laboured breathing, his eyes widening at the sight. Above and to the right of him, a thin pole stretched along the room. It was maybe 20 feet high, and couldn't be more than ten centimetres thick.

Barton was standing on his hands on the pole. He had his hands wrapped around the pole, his whole body ramrod straight in the air above it. His face was contorted with pain, but he didn't falter.

"Um, hey." Sam immediately regretted having spoke when Barton physically flinched away from the words, wavering slightly on the pole before finding is balance again. He nodded at Sam upside down. "How long have you been up there?" He didn't expect an answer, but he got one.

"Not long enough." He ground out.

"Jarvis, how long?"

"Four hours and fourteen minutes have past since Clint Barton assumed the position." The voice never stopped amazing and slightly creeping Sam out. Clint had been in that position for **four and one quarter hours.** Falcon had been told that Clint was human, but right now if he'd been told that he was actually a god Sam wouldn't have been surprised.

Barton's usual black t shirt had slid up, revealing something that Sam had never noticed before. His muscled skin was full of faded scars. White lines where the cuts had healed were everywhere, as if a child had attacked him with a felt tip. There were also more definite scars, if just as old as the rest. They were small straight lines, that weren't as big as the others but looked a lot deeper.

Sam had seen some bad scars in his time. He had a pretty nice collection himself. But it was the sheer number that shook him to the bone. There must be at least forty of the deeper scars, and that was all that Sam could see.

"You're staring at me." Sam looked up sharply at the other man, who had one upside down eyebrow raised. Sam searched for something to say, and settled for the first thing that came to his mind.

"You don't have a safety mat underneath that. What if you fall?"  
"I fall." Hawkeye took a laboured breath. Sam wasn't surprised. The thought of being up there for more than four hours turned his legs to jelly, he could hardly blame the other man for struggling.

"You can stop if you want to."

"No. Not…good…enough…yet…" He was definitely struggling with his breathing now.

"You don't have to speak. If you want to stay up there I can't stop you, but I'm getting a mat underneath it."

"No…"

"You don't get the choice I'm afraid. Sure, push yourself to the limit during training, but look after yourself afterwards." Without waiting for a reply Sam grabbed the thickest mat he could find and pulled it so it was underneath the marksman. He then filled a water bottle with cool water and placed it next to the mat.

"What…are…you…" He cut him off.

"I'm getting everything ready so that when you do get down you can rest for while before you have to get up and get anything."

"I don't…"

"I don't care whether you want my help or not. You've got it, so quit complaining." Sam crossed his arm, looking up at the upside down man.

He went over to the treadmill and started to jog, plugging in his music and looking at Clint out of the corner of his eye. Time wore on, and Clint's face contorted with pain. His breath was coming out in short bursts, and Falcon could see that he'd reached his limit. Hell, he'd reached his limit an hour ago.

Then suddenly he was plummeting through the air, hitting the mat with a thud. Falcon jumped off the treadmill, rushing over to the man lying spread-eagled on the mat. His eyes were closed, his face contorted with agony.

"Hey man, come on, wake up." Sam slapped his face gently, rocking back on his heels in relief when his eyes opened half way.

"I… fell… mat."

"Yeah, you're okay. A few nasty bruises in the morning, mind."

"Head…"

"I'm not surprised your head hurts. All the blood's been pumped into your head for five hours. That might be dangerous, I'll ask someone about that later." Clint strained to get up, but Sam pushed him down again, mindful of his sore shoulders and arms. After five straight hours Clint was weak, but he still groaned in complaint.

"I have… get up… Nat…"

"Romanoff's out at a meeting with Fury. She'll be back in a couple of hours. She's safe, I promise. And you don't have to get up, you have to lie down there while I try to figure out if what you just did was damaging you somehow." He put a bit of authority in his voice, and at last the archer stopped complaining. "Bloody avengers." He muttered under his breath. He turned to the freezer they kept in there especially for ice packs and got out a couple, before grabbing a cloth and running cold water. Jogging back over to the now limp man, he forced himself to smile at what he hoped was reassurance.

He didn't know Barton that well, had barely spoken a few words to him, but this seemed like a crazy thing for anyone to do. He even doubted that Steve could, or more likely would, do that, and he was a freaking super soldier! Five whole hours standing on your hands on a ten centimetre pole 20 metres off the ground. Not to mention the fall, even though there was a mat there it would still leave a pretty massive bruise.

He placed the cold towel on Hawkeye's head, smiling at the grunt of thanks. He carefully placed the ice packs on Barton's shoulders, a few more on his strained arms. "You're crazy, do you know that? Absolutely crazy." Clint seemed to have lost the ability to speak, what with his body on fire and his head pounding like the inside of his skull was a drum. His eyes flicked over to the bottle of water, silently communicating what he wanted. Sam ran to go and get the softest punching bag he could find. Then he put one arm around the other man's shoulders, lifting him slightly off the ground. He grunted in pain, but didn't tense up. His body had probably lost the ability to tense up. When he had slid the bag into place and lowered the other man down onto it, Falcon grabbed the water bottle and trickled some water into his mouth. He was probably doing everything wrong, but somehow he knew that Hawkeye didn't want anyone else to know about this. He had no reason to be ashamed, but he didn't want to make the other man any more uncomfortable than he was already.

Every couple of minutes he dribbled more water into Clint's mouth, making sure he swallowed it before giving him some more. He was obviously thirsty, but considering the strain his body had just been under it wouldn't really be a surprise if it decided to expel the liquid violently all over the floor.

"Jarvis, conduct a medical examination of Agent Barton, will you?" He readjusted the ice packs, and Barton's eyes opened wider. Clearly his head had relented a bit, because his vision was sharper than it had been a few minutes ago. He raised one arm slowly, biting on his lip when his muscles creaked in protest. Falcon handed him the water bottle, raising his eyebrows as he downed it all. "If you throw up, I'm not cleaning it up." Clint let the bottle slip out of his fingers.

"Haven't drunk… since start." His speech was coming to him slightly better, and his breath was coming out in more even breaths.

"Of course. Sorry, I forgot." They sat in silence for a few more minutes, until Hawkeye started to push himself up. "Woah woah woah! What do you think you're doing?"

"Getting up… training." The simple move of bracing his hands against the floor made him groan, each move sending shoots of agony pounding through his body.

"You're not going to stay on the floor, are you?" He shook his head, and with a sigh Falcon stood up, trying to find a part of the other's man's body that probably didn't hurt as much as the rest and failing. He wrapped an arm around the other man's chest, half carrying and half dragging his limp body over to the chair against the wall. The other man didn't make a sound when he hit the chair, but his sharp intake of breath told Sam all he needed to know.

"Okay, what now?"

"Give me a few minutes."

"A few minutes, are you kidding me? Last time I checked you don't have super healing, and you were upside down for four and a quarter hours, your body isn't just gonna get over that."

"Only four?" Hawkeye looked up, disappointment in his voice.

"What do you mean, only four? I couldn't get up there to start with, never mind staying up there for four freaking hours." Clint grunted in response. "What do you need to hang on for?"

"Huh?"

"There must be better ways of training that putting your body through torture."

"I've gotta build up my strength." Sam tilted his head at the man opposite him.

"I'm guessing you don't mean your muscles, but they have taken one hell of a workout." They sat without speaking for a few minutes, until Clint looked up. "It's my mind." The words seemed to fly out of his mouth, as if he'd been carrying a weight for too long and just needed to tell someone. "Loki just pointed his sceptre at me and I wasn't me anymore. What if something like that happens again? What if I end up hurting Natasha, or another one of the team? I thought, if I could condition my mind to be stronger I'd be able to fend off any attacks like that again. I thought if I didn't have a safety mat and if I knew that when I fell I would plummet onto concrete I'd be tempted to stay up there longer."

"Loki was magic. He was a god from another realm, and he was so different to anything we'd ever seen before. To anything anyone had ever seen before. That sceptre was something no one had any control over, and the fact that he chose you does not make anything your fault. You don't need to feel responsible, there's nothing more you could have done."

"I'm a killer. I don't deserve to be here."

"You're a freaking avenger. All the seven billion people in the world and they chose you to be in it."

"Technically Thor isn't a human."

"Shut up and let me be inspirational." Hawkeye laughed, and Sam smiled to himself slightly. "What I'm saying is, you're a hero. You're a hero, just like Captain America and Thor and Iron Man, you're a hero. There are little kids out there who make themselves little bows out of wood and string because they want to be like Hawkeye, they want t save the world just like you do. Now, promise me you won't push yourself like this again." He looked at him, and already knew the answer. "Okay, make sure you never push yourself like this alone. If I can't be there, Romanoff or Steve or someone. You don't have to be alone."

They sat in silence, but it was a comfortable one. Sam had seen a part of the other man that he didn't think existed, and wouldn't forget that in a hurry.


	3. Quicksilver

**Hi, here's another little drabble about Sam and one of the avengers, this time Quicksilver. This is set a little bit after the battle against Ultron and everyone had moved into Avengers tower. Quicksilver went into a coma, and when his body healed he woke up, extremely alive. The twins are still learning to trust the people around them, but they've finally accepted that this is where they belong.**

 **I will love you forever if you review, and feel free to leave any requests of** **characters or ideas that you want me to do.**

 **Disclaimer: If I owned Quicksilver, do you think I'd have filled him with bullets? Nope!**

Pietro laughed, ruffling his twin's hair. She glared at him but he ignored her, easily dodging the playful punch she swung at him. He didn't like this place, the Avengers tower, but it was warm and safe and he was with his sister. As long as they stayed together nowhere would be too bad. When they had first entered the project to enhance them, it had been torturous week after torturous week of tests, followed by years of the agony that had been coursing through their bodies when the enhancement was going on. But they had been together, so it was okay.

So far he had spent most of his time learning how to dodge bullets with Hawkeye (that guy was intense when he wanted to be), and not really talking to anyone else. Apart from when Cap decided to do a group activity or a briefing, they stayed as far away as possible from the rest of the team. Wanda only seemed to be getting along with Vision. They were getting on a little too well, as a matter of fact. Unfortunately he couldn't threaten to drop someone who could fly of the top of a tall building, but he'd find a way of getting through to it that no one hurts his sister and gets away with it.

One good point of this place though, was the food. It was constantly available whenever he needed it, and he burnt through calories fast so constant eating was pretty necessary. He didn't have to worry about his sister having enough to eat, or where the food came from and how they would pay for it. That's where they were heading now, to grab a bite to eat before the kitchen got too crowded.

When they got there, however, he kitchen wasn't as empty as they expected. A man with dark skin wearing shield combat gear had his back to them, searching for something in one of the cupboards. Just as they were about to back out Pietro's stomach rumbled, the man turning around with a start.

"Hey. I'm guessing you're the twins, right?" His voice was light and gentle, and there wasn't the wariness in his kind eyes that most people had in theirs when they saw the twins. "I'm Sam, Steve's friend. I'm staying here for now, until things settle down a bit more."

"I'm Wanda, and that's Pietro." His sister shook Sam's hand, and he did the same. If Wanda thought the guy was good it meant he probably was.

"Nice to meet you, Wanda, Pietro. Just shows how big this place is, we've lived in the same tower for a couple of days and never bumped into each other." The thought of Stark living in a place like this while he and his sister were starving back when they were children made him clench his fists, saying abruptly.

"We came in for food, so if you excuse me." Sam looked taken aback for a minute or two, before he shrugged and pointed to the fridge.

"There's a few leftovers in there, if you're starving. But if you can wait an hour or so I'm gonna make something."

"What are you going to make?"

"I'm thinking homemade pizza, is that alright with you?" Pizza just happened to be Pietro's favourite food, and his stomach growled again.

"That sounds good to me."

"I'll be making quite a lot though, and if you two aren't doing anything I could sure use a hand."

He knew he was letting his guard down, but his stomach was growling, Wanda was tugging on his hand and he was plain tired of being wary all the time. "Okay, we'll help out." Sam's face broke into a wide smile, showing of his glowing white teeth, in sharp contrast to his dark skin. Beside him Wanda was smiling too, and even though it was tiny, hesitant smile it reminded him of what it was like back when she smiled all the time. "But we have no idea how to make pizza."

"Well, I'll just have to show you the ropes, won't I?" The twins couldn't help but return his grin as he lined the ingredients along the counter top. They took up most of the space.

"That's a lot of food for six people." Pietro could remember a time when that much pizza would have lasted him and his sister for a month.

"Well, Thor eats like every meal is a feast, every time Banner hulks out he uses up pretty much all his energy, and Clint is extremely fond of midnight snacks, so I make enough to fill the fridge as well so anyone who gets hungry can hep themselves." He glanced towards the blonde meaningfully. "Besides, Cap needs to eat constantly. He's got a super metabolism, which is probably why he's Captain Small Ass."

He couldn't keep in the chuckle, and soon the three of them were laughing along. Pietro felt comfortable, almost like he didn't have to be wary here. He liked the feeling.

Pietro looked over to his twin beside him. She was focused on kneading the dough. Before she had the chance to look up a handful of flour was already in the air, covering her clothes. Pietro laughed beside her, only for a spark of red to appear in the bag of flour and it to suddenly explode with such force it covered the walls, the floor and him. He threw some more flour at her, only for her to dodge and for it to land directly on Sam face.

They both went silent as he looked up, deliberately wiping the flour out of his eyes. Then he picked up the entire bag of flour and poured it upside down on the twins.

Ten pizzas, five wasted bags of flour and two smashed eggs later, the three emerged triumphantly from the kitchen. For the first time in too long the tension had left, and the weight of the world on his shoulders seemed a little bit lighter.

"I like cooking with you, Falcon." He nodded along to his sister's statement.

"Yeah, I like cooking with you two. But you're the ones who're going to explain to Pepper what happened to her spotless kitchen."


	4. Hulk

**Hi there.**

 **11)** **I am so sorry about not updating in forever, I promised my self I'd be good and I really wasn't. I'm a terrible person.**

 **22)** **Thank you so so much for the reviews, they really do make my day. Please request a character if you want one about them.**

 **33)** **This is definitely long, and I apologise if it isn't up to standard. Because I have taken so long, I'm going to post both Bruce and Natasha today as a sort of apology.**

 **4)** **As always, I don't own any of these characters. If I did though, I DEFINITELY WOULDN'T SET CLINT AND NATASHA AGAINST EACH OTHER WHEN THEY'VE BOTH BEEN BEST FRIENDS SINCE FORVEVER AND ARE PRETTY MUCH THE ONLY PERSON IN EACH OTHER'S LIVES WHO UNDERSTANDS WHAT THEY'VE BEEN THROUGH. Ahem, onto the show.**

Sam felt rather than saw the building fall. One minute he was standing, ready to transport an exhausted Bruce back to the lab, and then the next the ground shook as the ceiling started to crumble. He dived down, barely avoiding the massive steel beam from taking his head off. It landed suspended above him by a pile of rubber, and just as Sam was about to thank his lucky stars it fell. His leg was in the way.

A scream of pain ripped itself from his throat as he heard his leg crunch under the immense weight. White, hot agony coursed through his body when he felt the bones in his leg shatter, causing his eyes to roll up into his body and guttural moan to escape his mouth. Every breath of air sent new pain through him.

When he had caught a bullet for Steve and had it taken out of his soldier, he had thought that that was pain. When Steve had sown up a knife wound in the middle of a battle, Sam had thought he knew pain. He had no idea.

Black spots danced across his blurry vision, but he knew he couldn't go unconscious, no matter how much his screaming nerve endings wanted him to. If he went unconscious nobody would find him, and he would bleed out. But he wasn't on his own.

He suddenly remembered Bruce, and how he was there to fly the shaking scientist, who had just calmed down after the Hulk had taken out about fifty hydra agents. The battle was nearly over, and they couldn't risk him turning into _the_ _other guy_ so near helpless civilians.

The scientist leaned over him, his eyes flashing a worrying shade of green when he saw the injuries.  
"Sam?" Bruce rocked back on his heels. Sam Wilson was one of the few people he felt totally at home with, and the reliable guy's apartment offered a welcome rest for when Tony got a bit intense. Sam wasn't afraid of him, but he had seen what he could do and didn't put himself at risk. He understood that Bruce's worst nightmare was hurting one of his friends when he lost control, and didn't totally forget his own worth and try to face him and talk him down like Steve kept trying to do. It had earned the super soldier a few broken ribs and very nearly a lot more than that, and Banner couldn't bring himself to look at the captain for weeks.

Sam's leg was totally crushed, and he looked to be losing quite a bit of blood. As far as he knew the other avengers were quite far away. He felt the other guy trying to claw his way out. Sam was losing colour, and it was suddenly clear that if he didn't do something now his friend was going to die. It wasn't fair that a good man should die alone in a building because the man who could save him was too scared to help. Anger coursed through his veins, his skin tightening and becoming green.

"Bruce?" Sam tried to relax his breathing, biting down the scream of pain. "Banner, stay with me. Come on man, don't turn into the other guy now."

The scientist gasped as his skin contracted again, as he tried to calm down the anger inside of him. "The… other guy… can help…"

"Yeah, but right now I want the guy who's a doctor." Sam's voice shook, his skin losing all colours. Adrenaline must be coursing though him a thousand miles an hour, because here was no other reason he wasn't unconscious right now. "Listen. There are… civilians out there… wait till they're… gone." He was slowing down, but he had a point.

"Okay, okay. Okay." He wasn't sure whether he was talking to himself or Sam, but it slowed down his heartbeat a bit. "Okay, stay awake Sam. I'm going to call in your injuries. I should have done that straight away. God I'm so stupid."

He took Falcon's radio – his had disappeared somewhere when the other guy appeared – while sending a worried look at him. His eyes were closing, and his life was slipping away. "There's an avenger down. Taken out by a falling building, a steel beam collapsed on him and totally shattered Sam's leg. Come as quick as you can and bring manpower. I can find a pulse but he won't survive like this much longer." He heard Captain America's voice down the radio, desperation starting to shine through.

"Just keep him as stable as you can. Don't hulk out Bruce, please. He needs your medical. Please." The next words were murmured, but the sorrow in them sent a chill down his spine. "I can't lose another friend. I just can't."

Taking in deep breaths and trying not to look at the glazed look in his friend's eyes, Bruce tried his best to stop the bleeding. The blood was making an alarming large puddle. Bruce's breath caught in his throat. His friend was going to die. Suddenly Sam's hand clenched on his shoulder. "Not… green."

He let the hand on his shoulder ground him, just like Natasha's shock of red hair and steady voice did when the other guy needed to disappear. He felt for a pulse, his stomach sinking when all he could find was a faint beat. It wasn't going to carry on for much longer. Falcon was going to die.

He scrabbled around in the huge pockets of his trousers (he and Stark had made them extra stretchy, even though it meant they had to make a whole new material), looking for the box he hoped was still in there. His fingers closed over cool metal. Bingo.

Inside the box was tiny vile of luminous purple liquid. It had taken weeks of constant experimenting and as many of Pietro's blood samples as he had cared to offer, but Bruce had finally found the right formula. After the coma Pietro had put himself in while is body healed the bullet wounds, Banner had been determined to replicate it. His original intention was to stab it into his own neck the next time he hulked out, putting himself in a coma before the other guy could hurt anyone.

Blinking back tears, he poured a few drops of the liquid down the other man's throat. Sam suddenly started to thrash with renewed strength, guttural moans ripped out of his throat.

"You need to relax. I'm looking after you, I swear. This is going to save you. Please just stop thrashing."

Sam slowed down, before going totally limp. "I trust you." Bruce poured he rest of the liquid down his throat, watching as he fell unconscious within a few seconds.

Rocking back on his heels, Bruce prayed for the first time. He prayed for the life of Sam Wilson, the hero who was stupid enough to trust him.

Thor lifted the piece of metal from Sam's foot, allowing Shield's medical team to get to him. Bruce could have sworn he saw tears in Clint's eyes, and all the jokes and sarcasm had deserted Tony. Natasha rested a hand on his shoulder, but the cool mask was already starting to slip away when he glanced at her. Cap was beside Sam the whole time, even in the helicarrier when he was being transported back to base.

In the month that Falcon stayed in the coma, Bruce visited every day. Tony could be found there every so often, taking measurements for some new wings he was making for Sam. Clint sat in the chair beside the sleeping form and tightened his bow, setting his arrows out on the mattress and cleaning them meticulously. Natasha often curled up in the armchair with a book, and the twins would go there every couple of days. Wanda always said the same thing. No change when she went inside his head. Cap was the worst affected by far. He would sit for hours just talking, about how things used to be, about the weather and missions and baseball and anything that was in his mind. Seeing someone so strong and self assured break down scared him more than he was willing to admit.

The day Sam woke up was one of the best days of Bruce's life. But he couldn't force himself to go in. He didn't want to face the disappointment, the anger. Bruce could have done more, should have done more. Then, one day he forced himself to go into the hospital room. He wasn't sure why. It could have been because he missed Sam's presence, or because he wanted to feel the pain of his failure all over again. He deserved to feel that pain.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him when he perched on the armchair next to the bed.

"Took you long enough."

"I… didn't think you'd want to see me."

"Why not?"

"Because it's my fault!" The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. "You've been in a coma for a month because of me."

"I'm alive because of you. I've got two younger sisters and five little nieces and nephews, and I get to see them again because of you. This isn't your fault Banner. And I wont let your beat yourself up over it for the rest of your life." They sat and talked for another hour or so, until a nurse came in and said that the patient really needed to rest. Sam sighed, but didn't refuse, which showed how tired he really was. As Bruce went to leave, he heard him say something.

"I was right to trust you, Banner. And I still do."


	5. Black Widow

**This is it. I've been looking forward to writing this for a while. I own very little, and especially not these gorgeous characters.**

 _She hadn't been told her name. The woman in front of her looked at her with wide eyes, struggling against the ropes that held her down. She steadied her hand on the gun, aiming for in between the eyes. One simple bullet was all it would take. She steadied her breathing, trying to trick her mind into thinking that she was just in training, that this was another dummy. Then the woman in front of her started to sob._

Natasha woke up with a gasp, her fingers clutching onto the bed sheets. The nightmares had only got worse since Wanda had sent her back to the Red Room in her mind. It was like a door that she had locked shut had been opened, and now she couldn't close it. She kicked the sheets away and leaped to her feet, leaning on the wall when she became lightheaded. When she closed her eyes she could still see her first kill on the back of her eyelids.

 _She could see the other girls' eyes on her, knowing that it was weak to slow the slightest hesitation. She had been chosen as the first to kill, and al the girls in the room were ready to steal her position. She glanced at the girls around her, ranging from her age to a couple of years older than her to her age. She was eleven years old, and had been in the Red Room for five years. Five years of pain. Five years of hunger. Five years of training for this very moment._

She pulled on a hoodie that she had stolen from Clint, breathing in the faint smell of coffee that she had come to associate with the archer. He was out on a mission, and she hated herself for wanting her to be here with her. It was weakness, but she couldn't rid her mind of it. She walked to the kitchen. The floor was cold on her bare feet, but she welcomed the feeling of it. She knew the route well, she walked it most nights, but usually she did not walk it alone.

 _She tightens her finger on the trigger, and there is a bang. Smoke, rising from the gun. And the woman opposite her was dead. Her body was limp, blood dripping onto the floor. The girls around her didn't make a sound. She placed the gun on the table, turning on her heel and walking away from the corpse. She doesn't shed a tear in mourning, but that is the day that the last part of her that is human dies._

She quickens her pace, the corridors swimming in front of her as tears drip from her eyes. She needs to get outside, the walls are crushing her and stopping the oxygen from filling her lungs. She can't bear to share a space with the other Avengers, can't share the same air as heroes.

 _I'm a monster. I'm a monster. I'm a monster. I'm a monster. I'm a monster. I'm a monster. I'm a monster. I'm a monster. I'm a monster. I'm a monster. I'm a monster. I'm a monster. I'm a monster. I'm a monster. I'm a monster. I'm a monster. I'm a monster. I'm a monster._

She swung open the door, letting the cool air blow against her face. It's cold outside, but the hoodie keeps her warm. Besides, she's been in colder. She finds a bench and sits down, barely registering her surroundings. That voice continues to ring inside her head, forcing out all other noise until those words are all she can hear, on a never ending reel that she's been hearing every day and night for too long.

 _I'm a monster._

Maybe is those three words hadn't taken up all her attention she would have noticed it sooner. But as it was she only registered the regular swoosh of metal wings above her fir a few seconds until Sam landed beside her. With his wings silhouetted against the full moon high in the sky, he looked almost like an angel. But angels didn't come to monsters.

 _Monster. Monster. Monster._

She taps the bench next to her and he sits, his wings folding behind him with a metallic whir. His face looks weary, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. She had no doubt she looked the same. He handed a flask to her and she took a sip, the coffee warming up her bones. She passed it back and still they shared no words.

 _Monster._

"Today is the anniversary of Riley's funeral. I went, and I remember the way his mom looked at me. Like she asking why I didn't save him. Why I had survived and her son hadn't." His voice was low, but it was almost enough to drown out the three words echoing around her head.

"When I was eleven years old I shot someone in the head in the Red Room. She was a mob boss, a murderer. I killed her."

He doesn't offer any consolation, none of the token phrases she was so used to hearing. He didn't tell her how it wasn't her fault, or that the women that she killed deserved it. And in return she doesn't try to comfort him with lies. They just sit there, watching the moon get lower in the sky as they fight their own battles inside their own heads. And as the night slowly turns to day and the chill creeps inside their bones, those three words in her head became quieter. They were still there, they would always be there, but for now they weren't quite as deafening.


End file.
